


chikara

by noyabeans (snowdrops)



Series: writing with snowdrops (timeskip arc) [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Shippy Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops/pseuds/noyabeans
Summary: 力(chikara)—1.[noun]power, strength.2.[proper noun]name of a person.Contains spoilers for the current manga arc, up to chapter 379.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara & Nishinoya Yuu, Ennoshita Chikara/Nishinoya Yuu
Series: writing with snowdrops (timeskip arc) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608889
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	chikara

"I'm Ennoshita Chikara. Nice to meet you."

_Chikara_ , _Chikara, Chikara_. Nishinoya tries the word on his tongue, weighing it.

It's certainly not the first time he's ever said it: Power. Strength. Things he didn't have when he was younger.

He's never said it as a name, though. Strength, as a person — what a curious name. What kind of person does that make; what kind of strength does he hold?

* * *

The first time it comes into Nishinoya’s awareness is somewhere near the end of their first year, in the middle of a match against the second-years. They’re on a timeout and Chikara is helping him tape a jammed finger. He always asks Chikara to tape for him, because Chikara’s tape strips can be a little jagged and uneven at times, but he’s much better than Nishinoya is himself, and he always knows how to tape it just right.

There’s a small frown on Chikara’s face as he pulls the tape over Nishinoya’s fingers, tight enough to serve its purpose but not so much that it is uncomfortable. Right as he’s tearing off the second piece of tape, Nishinoya glances down.

“You’ve got strong hands, Chikara.”

Chikara pauses, the frown giving way for a moment of confusion, before taping down the strip carefully, his hold gentle and firm. “What does that even mean,” he mutters as he inspects his handiwork, then lets go of Nishinoya’s hand. “Is this okay?”

“It means what it means,” Nishinoya says, flexing his fingers. They feel good, like they always do whenever Chikara tapes for him. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks, Chikara! Let’s win this, you guys.”

Chikara’s still levelling him an odd look, but Nishinoya hides the smile like a secret to himself and turns away. It’s just a feeling, but there is strength in Chikara’s hands that he hasn't learnt yet.

* * *

Facing off against Miya Atsumu is terrifying. Sure, every match they play brings its fair share of nerves, but Miya’s jump floater makes him feel the way that he had whenever he encountered new, foreign things in his childhood. That sense of being thrown off the deep end into a rushing river, that deep-seated unease and uncertainty, the fear of the unknown beyond his control.

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. Even Ushijima’s spikes had not been as intimidating. He can’t fail now, not now of all times. He’s Karasuno’s libero. He won’t let the game end with him.

The time-out is a relief, a breather. It doesn’t change the fact that the expectations of the whole team are still resting on his shoulders. The others leave him a wide berth; he appreciates the space and silence. He rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath, imagines it spread through all the taut muscles in his body.

Chikara comes up to him with the sports tape. “Which?”

“These two,” he says quietly, stretching his hand out for Chikara to take.

Chikara works the tape with ease now; he has the skill down to an art, deftly tearing it clean and sharp. Nishinoya wonders if it’s a sign of how much he’s asked Chikara to tape him up over the last year that Chikara can tear the perfect length and width for his fingers as if it is second nature. Perhaps that is what a captain does, knows all of his members inside out, understands what they need better than they do. Chikara will be a good captain, but Nishinoya’s known that for a long time.

Chikara’s hands are steady as they work. There is no hesitance in them, his movement carrying the same unhurried stability with which he holds his camera to get a good shot of a flock of birds flying over the river at sunset. It’s grounding to have Chikara here; his presence is an anchor from the fear that Nishinoya is staring at in the face of Miya Atsumu.

“Done,” Chikara says barely a moment later, pressing the tape in place.

Nishinoya wiggles them, finds them satisfactory. “Thanks, Chikara.”

“Don’t you dare step back,” Chikara says. “You’re not made for giving up, Nishinoya.”

That draws a laugh from Nishinoya, because of course Chikara knows that better than anyone, but the words settle reassuring in his chest. “I won’t.”

* * *

“Physical therapy?” Nishinoya asks as they’re getting ready to leave the clubroom one evening, reaching over to pull out the university brochure wedged between the pile of books in Chikara’s bag and inspecting it with interest. “That’s like, perfect for you, Chikara!”

Swatting the brochure out of his hands and back into the bag, Chikara gives him a _look_. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“You can be my personal therapist when I go pro,” Nishinoya says immediately, grinning. It feels like the best idea he’s ever come up with (and Nishinoya has plenty of great ideas, thank you).

“You’ll have a team therapist, probably. And you won’t even be in Sendai.”

Nishinoya waves it off. “Nobody tapes for me as well as you do! I’ll come back to Sendai for you. Then I’ll bring you to Tokyo with me.”

“Do you even hear yourself,” Chikara says, shaking his head with fond exasperation. “C’mon, get out, let me lock up.”

“You’ve got a willing live subject here,” Nishinoya says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively as he backs out of the doorway.

The door locks with a click, and Chikara pulls a face. “You just want a free massage.”

“You’re no fun, Chikara,” Nishinoya complains, looping his fingers around Chikara’s wrist and tugging him towards the vending machine. “Reward your libero for all the hard work he does sometimes, yanno.”

Chikara squints down at him in disapproval. “I’m your captain, not your therapist.”

“ _Chi-ka-ra!_ It’s just a matter of time anyway! And quit pulling rank with me!”

* * *

Coming back after leaving is easier said than done. Sendai is two hours away from Tokyo on the fastest shinkansen, and Chikara’s clinic isn’t in the most convenient of places. Still, it’s worth the journey — getting to spend time with Chikara’s _always_ worth the journey.

They don’t talk about volleyball here, don’t talk about the receives he’s flubbed or matches the team’s won and lost. Chikara never presses, and it’s just as fun telling Chikara about that takoyaki he had in Osaka which was so frickin’ hot he burned his tongue, or hearing about how Chikara’s pet tortoise somehow escaped its tank and sent them on a wild-goose chase around the house.

It’s always comfortable with Chikara, but here even more than ever before. Back in Karasuno, Chikara was always in his orbit, a presence Nishinoya would gravitate towards. But now, beyond the easy conversation and catching up, there is a comfort in lying down after a rough series of matches, sinking into a familiar pair of hands and feeling the tension drain from his muscles.

It’s quiet as Chikara works, a soft instrumental playing in the background. The tranquility is enough for Nishinoya to fall into some sort of wakeful limbo, a space where he simply exists without needing to be anything more, only feeling — 

The way Chikara’s hands have grown stronger, his movements slow but sure against Nishinoya’s shoulder blades. The way the stiff knots release themselves under Chikara’s familiar touch, easing into a warm burn across Nishinoya’s back. The way it feels like the righting of an axis, to be here, now, in this room with Chikara.

* * *

The first time they shake hands, on the first day of club in their first year at Karasuno High, Nishinoya learns that strength is an unwavering grip. When they lose to Inarizaki in their third year, he learns that strength is an unflinching bow.

When he returns to the locker room after their semifinals against Argentina to the sight of Ennoshita Chikara’s smile, he learns that that strength is having someone to throw yourself at and knowing they will be there to catch you, every time.

_**fin.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Ny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylie) and [Ewa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewagan) for the help and feedback! 
> 
> [tumblr (rielity)](https://rielity.tumblr.com/) | [twitter (noyabeans)](https://twitter.com/noyabeans) | [haikyuu writing journal](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/) ([ **fic-specific reflection entry**](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/25418.html))


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